


A Miracle

by CarmillaCarmine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Choose Your Own Ending, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Sad John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 17:59:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19796092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine/pseuds/CarmillaCarmine
Summary: John is grieving over the loss of his best friend when one day, a mysterious note gives him hope.





	A Miracle

The first time it happened was two weeks after Sherlock’s jump. John had been sleeping on his sister’s couch since that day and had no particular plan concerning his future. He couldn’t go back to 221B without his best friend. He couldn’t bear to look at the empty space that had been filled with the presence of the great Sherlock Holmes.    
He was leaving Harry’s flat when he noticed a piece of paper stuck in the mail slot in the door. He almost binned it when after unfurling it he saw that it had just one word on it.

_ “ _ _ Shhh _ _.” _

A peculiar feeling in his gut told him to put the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket though. In the local store, he bought himself a sandwich for breakfast, a loaf of bread, a block of cheese and a bottle of whisky. During the three-minute walk back to the flat, he forgot about the note until he came across yet another one. From under the coffee tin on the kitchen counter, a piece of paper caught John’s eye. 

_ “It’s me.” _

John looked around the kitchen.

“Harry? Are you here?” Silence. A clear indication that she was still asleep. They had drunk way too much last night so it was a miracle he was up and about. He glanced at the note again. “Sherlock?” John whispered, as if it was a secret wish and if he said it too loudly it wouldn’t come true. There was no response, however, and John continued to make coffee to drink with his breakfast. His hands followed the routine but his head was full of images of Sherlock sitting by his microscope in the kitchen at 221B or jumping with joy at the prospect of a particularly fascinating homicide. The moment he realised that he would never see his friend do any of those things again, John’s heart felt like it no longer had the willingness or reason to beat.

-

Two days passed and John kept looking at the notes in his pocket. If it was Sherlock and he wanted to communicate with him in secret, it would be a lot easier for him to do it in a place he was familiar with and not in a flat where someone else, apart from John, lived.

That same day, John moved back to 221B. Mrs. Hudson welcomed him with joy but the sadness in her eyes was still clear when she looked at him. 

He had been right!

John found the first note stabbed to the  mantlepiece with a pocket knife. 

_ “Welcome back.” _

John recognized the paper as coming from one of his notebooks. He found one on the small coffee table next to his armchair. Indeed, half a page was ripped out in the middle and matched the note from the mantle. John looked through the notebook, searching for more notes or scribbles that were not his own. No luck this time. 

-

The next note was in between the cushions of the sofa.

_ “I’m sorry.” _

John sat looking at that one for a long time before he whispered to the empty room. 

“I forgive you, Sherlock. Just...just come back to me. What’s one tiny miracle to you? Come back...please.”

The one in the coffee mug next day said:  _ “I promise.” _

John got into the habit of checking every nook and cranny of the house for the first hour after waking up. Then he had breakfast and searched again. Sometimes there was a note every day, sometimes there was an odd day without one and John overturned every book and piece of paper in the house on those days thinking he must have missed it.

After several weeks, he managed to find a note a day, then two notes a day. John felt hopeful that it was a sign that Sherlock would reveal himself to him soon. 

The people around John were happy that he was moving on, coping with the loss. He wasn’t a gloomy drunk any more; he was as close to his normal self as he could be expected to be in his situation. His friends had no idea about the secret he had and John was keeping it quiet, just as Sherlock had asked him to in the first note.

It was only after he went to a pub with Molly, Greg and Mike that he became annoyed at them talking about Sherlock as if he was dead. They graced him with odd looks and he had to leave early, feigning fatigue. 

“Sherlock, I can’t keep this quiet anymore.” John said to the empty sitting room when he came back home.

The next morning, the note said: “Soon.”

-

He made a mistake. John told Greg that he believed Sherlock was alive. Once the Pandora’s box was opened, it was impossible to close it.

“John, the exhumation of Sherlock’s corpse is nearly impossible. He is dead, you’ve seen it yourself.”

“You have to, Greg. Please. I know he is alive. I know it!” John was on a mission to prove it because Sherlock would reveal himself soon anyway. He had said so himself.

After days of nagging, Greg pulled some strings and Molly was allowed to take a sample from the body buried under the gravestone with the name “Sherlock Holmes” on it.

As it happened, Molly had samples of Sherlock’s DNA from before his death. John didn’t ask what they were for but he was glad they were there. The wait for DNA tests was annoying but John knew that enough strings had been pulled for him already.

Several days later, Greg picked him up to drive to Barts. Molly looked at John with pity but John knew, he was certain and he looked back at her with a smug expression on his face. She approached him with the sheet containing the results of the test. 

“I’m sorry, John.”

“No. That can’t be. It’s not true.” John glared at the offending document in Molly’s hand.

“I miss him too, John.” She said placing her free  hand on his shoulder. John shrugged it off with  annoyance. How dare she think  she missed Sherlock the same way that he did?

“ Gimme that!” He tore the paper from Molly’s hand and looked at it with a vision that blurred more with each second. “It can’t be. I know he’s alive! He has to be.”  _ He wouldn’t leave me... he wouldn’t...  _ John k ept the notes to himself though. They were private. 

He could faintly hear Greg and Molly talking about him on the other side of the lab, but he wasn’t crazy. He knew better.

“Maybe John should see his therapist?”

“He refuses to but if his behaviour becomes more alarming, I’ll take him myself.” Greg assured.

“More? He is convinced Sherlock is alive. I took the samples from Sherlock when he was alive myself and I took them now from the corpse. There was no way someone could have tampered with it. He is dead.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

Hearing that, John snuck out of the lab.

-

When John came home, Sherlock was sitting in his chair. Larger than life and smiling at John while his index finger was on his lips in a shushing gesture.

“I knew it.” John mouthed. 

Sherlock stood up and opened his arms. John didn’t hesitate for even a moment and launched himself into his friend’s arms. John’s face fit snugly in the crook of Sherlock’s neck and he inhaled deeply. “Don’t you ever leave me again,” he said into the warm skin beneath his lips.

“I won’t. I’ll stay here with you forever.” The deep voice whispered in his ear. 

“Good.” John tightened the hug on his friend’s body. His arms were around Sherlock’s waist, underneath the coat and John released a long sigh of relief.

“Let’s just keep it to ourselves. I don’t want anyone else to know I’m alive.”

“Of course. Precaution.”

“Yes. Come, John. You need to rest.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have disappeared when I wake up.” John chuckled nervously through tears.

“I’m here John,” Sherlock placed a hand on John’s sternum, “and I’m not leaving. Ever.”

They lay down on the couch, John holding his friend for dear life and revelling in Sherlock's scent around him. They had never laid down together like that, or talked about their feelings. But the fall changed everything and John accepted the new reality immediately, now that Sherlock was in his arms.

-

Mrs. Hudson knocked quietly before she entered the sitting room. She had heard John talking, possibly on the phone, so she went up to check how he was doing and if he wanted a cuppa.

She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. She found John on the couch hugging Sherlock’s coat. He was whispering something in his sleep but she just put a blanket over him and left.

Down the stairs, Mrs. Hudson mulled over the words she had heard John say. He imitated a different tone, even though he was asleep, as if he was quoting someone.

“ _I wanted to end the world, but I'll settle for ending yours._ ” 

**Author's Note:**

> There are at least 4 possible explanations for the ending and I’m leaving it open on purpose, so you can choose the ending you imagine it to be :) Please comment with your ideas for the ending. I’m curious if you’ll find more or if yours match the ones I had in mind.


End file.
